iDon't Know Why I Say Goodbye
by messy heart
Summary: High school is over. Is anyone ready to say goodbye?


_**iDon't Know Why I Say Goodbye**_

50. Freddie's standing in the middle of the field. He removed his toga a while ago, but has yet to return it as it remains balled up in his hand. The only tell-tale signs that a graduation just took place are the rows of white chairs on the grass, the empty stage and Freddie himself. New graduate. Congratulations, congratulations. Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life.

The pear phone in his pocket gives a short vibration, signaling a text message coming in. No doubt Carly is wondering where he is when there's a party about to start over at her place. He told his mother that he needed a few moments to himself before he could head home. In an enlightened moment, his mother gave in to his request without too many questions or too much worry.

If anyone has questions or worries, it's Freddie.

49. Sam sighs, ignoring Carly's nth text message about the party. She knows she should be there, not so much helping out with the party preparations but more on offering her best friend moral support and possibly emptying the Shays' refrigeration of its contents. But she's dreading this. Normally, Sam loves a good party. Especially when Carly's throwing it. That way she feels that she has some control over what's happening. If she doesn't like the music, she'll just change it. If the food on the table runs out, she can root around in the fridge or the cabinets freely.

Okay, fine. So she's likely to do that at anyone's party in anyone's house. Shut up.

But this party is different. It's a goodbye and Sam's never been too good with those.

48. So maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let his mom take his car instead of having her leave it behind and just hitching a ride with Spencer as she suggested. Today isn't really about thinking. Or maybe too much thinking? He's not sure about a lot of things right now.

He shoves his hands into his trouser pockets as starts walking down the same path he's been walking for years. Everything still feels the same. The concrete still feels the same beneath the soles of his shoes. The Seattle skyline is still home. But in a few months he'll be living in a different city, in a different timezone, a different ocean in view.

MIT has been _the_ dream from the very beginning. Even before he had placed Carly Shay on that infamous adolescent pedestal. Yup. That long. The dream of having Carly be his girlfriend someday is a ship that has sailed a long time ago but MIT is just a stone's throw away now. An inevitability.

It scares him.

There's something infinitely frightening about having a dream come true.

(What if you only get to have one dream come true? What if he royally fucks this one up?)

47. Locking the door behind her, Sam quickly pockets her keys and skips all the way to the sidewalk. She considers breaking into a run for a moment but decides against it. Sweaty in Seattle will never be a title to a romantic comedy, you know? But she feels restless and as she walks her fingers drum a constant and unrelenting beat against her thighs. She bites on her lower lip and wonders if stopping for a smoothie will make her late enough to warrant death by Carly whining or not.

That's when she sees him.

46. Samantha Puckett.

They're on opposite sides of a street (literally now, but figuratively? _Forever.)_ and Sam is gesticulating wildly (e.g. hands high in the air, waving from left to right and back again) as she calls out his name. He tries not to blush too much when people start looking at him. Because who else can she mean when she starts screaming "Fredward! Yeah, you in the stupid blue button-down!"?

Samantha Puckett.

She's jogging toward him (jaywalking, of course) with her blonde curls bouncing behind her and a grin on her face—one that he returns readily.

"Nub," she says in greeting.

"Samantha," he answers evenly and receives a glare for his troubles. He offers his arm to her and despite rolling her eyes at the gesture, she slips her hand through. But not without punching his shoulder with her other hand.

Naturally.

45. Fredward Benson.

Talk about being _born_ unfortunate. The name alone is cause for pity and the whole back-boneless-ness is also a point of contention. Yeah, yeah. That's not a word. Deal with it. But he's improved greatly over the years. A little less pathetic and a little more... Well, she's not entirely sure but it's more of something that isn't entirely pitiful. She likes to think she had a hand in making him a better person.

Playfully, she digs her fingernails into his flesh and the rush she gets when she sees him flinch is a little unsettling. She's not one of those sado-machowhatever type of people. But she's always enjoyed his reactions because they're just so... _Freddie_.

"I'm scared."

She tries to hide her surprise by looking down at her feet as they match each of his step. Left, right, left, right. How long can you go without replying to statement like that, though?

"What do you mean?" Not very long evidently. She mentally slaps herself because this here? It's like standing at the edge of an abyss. Sam doesn't do deep stuff. At least not with Freddie. Not anymore.

But the dork doesn't disappoint.

"I mean, we're gonna be in different cities by the time summer ends. I'm betting you'll be trying to get in as many hits as you can."

44. For some reason, they stop in front of Bushwell Plaza. Just stop. At the same time. He knows why he's rooted in place, but he's a little confused as to why Sam—in all her notorious impatience—isn't dragging him by the collar of his shirt toward the elevator. He doubts she'll be able to anyway because his feet feel like they're covered in cement, heavy and unwilling.

"It's gonna be weird not living here anymore."

"Sam, you _don't_ live here." That isn't true, though, so he doesn't complain when her hand lands painfully on the back of his head.

When she finally replies, her words are oddly poignant and her tone unusually soft that it tugs a little at his heart. "This will always be home."

43. Freddie is the last person she wants to be sentimental with.

(She's a little afraid that he also happens to be the _only_ person she can be sentimental with.)

So she leaves him there. After shoving him. Hard. He even stumbles a little.

That's how Sam Puckett rolls yo.

42. The graduation slacks (as his mother called them) are replaced by a pair of comfortable well-worn jeans, the leather shoes with a pair of equally well-worn sneakers, and his button-down for a familiar red polo shirt. It would be great if all changes are that easy. Almost no period of transition. That, however, is just wishful thinking.

There's a knock on his bedroom door and his mother peeks around the door, not waiting for his permission. He figures it's okay getting his privacy invaded. Good training for college dorms and all.

"Are you decent?"

He raises an eyebrow at the question rendered useless by her actions. "Seriously, mom?" Seriously?

The question hangs in the air for a moment before it's waved away outside his bedroom window when his mom pushes his door further open and walks inside to sit down on the edge of his bed. He can tell that she's nervous by how she repeatedly smooths her skirt with both hands.

"Fredward," she begins and the hesitation is obvious, "I just wanted to say..." Cue the tears. "That I'm very, very —" Cue the sniffle. "P-p-proud..." Cue the uncontrollable sobbing and blabbering about how he's so grown up now and soon he'll be leaving her. All by herself. All alone. By herself. By. Herself.

Alone.

He wraps his arms tightly around his mother. "I love you, mom," he tells her sincerely, "and thank you. For everything."

It calms her down. Somewhat.

41. Sam is man enough to admit that sometimes she's jealous of her best friend. Or woman enough. Whatever. She's sitting at the counter watching as Carly effortlessly mingles with their former classmates. Because Carly's charming. She's pretty and nice and smart and when you put those positive things in a smartly-dressed package, it's something brilliant.

She, on the other hand, doesn't really shine quite as brightly. She's more of a black hole.

Here's the deal:

She and Carly are moving to New York soon; Carly's set to attend Columbia and NYU for her. (So she buckled down the last couple of years and pulled an impressive SAT score out of her ass. Fuck off.) They agreed to stick to campus housing for their first year to get used to college life before looking for an apartment together. Sam's seriously relieved that she's moving to a different city with her best friend but it's still a different city and they'll be going to different colleges. Different. Different. Different.

"Go away. I don't want to dance," she informs one of the party-goers who finally managed to gather enough to courage to ask her after thirty minutes of blatant staring. His rather pimply face falls but it doesn't give quite the same amount of satisfaction it normally does.

Where the chiz is Freddork when you need him?

40. Freddie thinks that Carly must have some sort of invisible friend compass that enables her to know exactly where to find her friends whenever she wants.

"Why aren't you at the party?"

He shrugs. Mostly because he doesn't know what to say. There's nothing _to_ say and it's weird. Because it's not that he outright doesn't want to or anything like that, but it's more like he hasn't mustered enough energy to face a room full of people who will say that he delivered a great speech (_lies_—he must've looked a little green while it was happening because he certainly felt a little green) and congratulations on getting MIT and blahblahblah.

He watches as Carly tries to sit as ladylike as possible on the ledge leading to the fire escape. It can't be easy in that impossibly short skirt and he almost wishes that the expanse of smooth leg that he's given an eyeful of still has the effect that it used. The old Freddie would have fainted dead away. The newly-graduated Freddie thinks that Spencer would have locked his little sister away in a makeshift tower (possibly made of Swiss cheese) if he saw Carly in that dress.

"Sam's in there, probably wondering where we are..." Right, guilt him into going to the party. "She's probably counting the various ways she can maim you within an inch of your life for being late..." Of course, threaten him into going to the party. "There's also been a steady stream of guys asking her if she wants to dance. She looks about ready to—"

Wait. "What?" And he can't wipe the incredulous look from his face either.

Carly sighs and crosses her legs at the ankles. Those high heels look dangerously uncomfortable. "Yup. Think about it. This is possibly the last time we'll see everyone. The next time would probably be at our ten-year reunion or something. Tonight is a last chance kinda."

"To what?" He snorts. "To die at the hands of Sam Puckett?"

39. Sam's gonna kill someone if these guys don't stop asking if she wants to dance. Preferably the same someone who brought the crazy juice to the party. Only intoxication can explain this stupid behavior.

"How about a dance for old time's sake, Sam?"

Old time's sake? What about _her_ sake?

38. "I'm worried about Sam."

He shouldn't take offense, but he does anyway. "What about me?" he can't help but ask. He's wired to say stupid things sometimes. "Aren't you worried about me?"

"Well, no. I mean," she begins and it's obvious that she doesn't even know why she has to answer such a question in the first place, "you're Freddie. Sam is Sam. You're different."

It's a universally accepted truth that they're different. Sam and Freddie. Different. Different. Different.

37. She ends up having to dance with a shirtless Gibby to avoid having to reject more idiots. Where the hell is Carly?

It's only when Gibby accidentally bumps into her does she realize that she stopped dancing at some point.

Where the _fuck_ is Freddie?

36. "I'm going to be in Cambridge, Carly. That's in a completely different city. In Massachusetts. A completely different state." He knows he's being childish, but he keeps pushing. "At least you'll be in the same city as Sam. You'll be able to just text each other to meet at Skybucks after class or catch a movie or go bowling—"

"We hate bowling!" Carly protests but he's too far gone to acknowledge that she's even said something.

"And do you know where I'll be? Not there." He's a little out of breath when he's finished and a little red with embarrassment.

Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life?

Well, shit.

35. She doesn't want to think about it. She really doesn't.

"Gibby, where's Carly?" she asks against her better judgment. She's biting her tongue to keep herself from asking where Freddie is, too.

She gets a shrug for an answer and then, "But she's been gone for a while now, huh?"

Huh.

She really doesn't want to think about it. Because she knows she has the tendency to assume things. To jump to conclusions. So really. She doesn't want to think about it.

34. "Freddie," he can hear Carly say even while he has his head between his legs, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating, "everything is going—"

She's going to say that everything is going to be all right. He just knows it. And he hates it. That Carly has reduced his feelings into some cliche that she can make better with another cliche. This isn't just something that will pass. This is his _life_. It isn't spilled milk.

"—to be all right."

But he loves her for trying. He really does.

33. She finds herself in the studio. Or whatever Spencer has planned for the space once they're all carted off to college. There's no one there and she doesn't know if she feels relieved or disappointed. Either way, she's pretty disgusted with herself.

They had tried it. The Freddie and Sam thing. The ridiculous 'Seddie' thing that fans thought was so cute. And maybe it was for a while. But...

"Stupid nub."

Or perhaps it was her who was stupid. Because even when she did her best to push him away, her heart still held onto him tightly. Because somehow she knew that she would always love him more than he loved her. It was a harsh reality but an easy decision to make.

She could never take away from him the possibility of loving someone the way that she loved him.

Loves him.

32. Carly is going on and on about how they can take turns hopping on that train or bus or tractor or UFO that runs between New York and Cambridge/Boston. She means well, he knows, but self-pity is a curious, curious thing. The second you're wallowing in it, it's almost impossible to stop.

"You're an idiot." Well, barring _that_ statement it's almost impossible to stop.

The brunette seems pleased that she has his attention and she doesn't waste her time. "You're a moron, Freddie," she says simply. As if the words didn't just shatter her world. "You got into MIT. M. I. T. And here you are, acting like some wuss. What happened? You were so excited when you got your acceptance letter. Now you're acting like a nub—"

A nub?

"—like you didn't just have your dream come true. Do you know how many people would kill to have the opportunity that you have?" She's really laying it on him and he feels absolutely helpless. Slapping him silly wouldn't have rendered him as speechless. "Fredward Benson. High school is over. Deal with it."

31. Sam doesn't even hear the door open and only realizes that someone's in the studio with her when Brad nudges her leg with the tip of his shoe. She doesn't know how long she's been sitting by the window, looking out at the night sky, but her butt is feeling pretty numb.

"What's up, Fudgeface?" The jibe is half-assed and she feels a little disappointed with herself.

Brad appears to understand right now isn't really a good time. He doesn't leave, though, but he just shrugs and sits down in front of her, nudging her foot this time.

"Looking forward to U-Dub?" She doesn't know why she asked. She's not particularly interested in the answer.

He shrugs and runs his hand through his hair. "It's something, you know?"

Something.

"Yeah," she replies softly, turning her gaze back to the view outside the window.

30. He doesn't know why or how it happened exactly, but one moment Carly's chewing him out and the next he has her pressed against the window frame with his lips on hers.

He feels her hands on his chest but they're not pulling him closer. They're pushing him away.

"Freddie!"

What the hell is wrong with him?

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Carly shouts at him, her eyes daggers that pierce his heart.

"I'm sorry."

He doesn't know exactly what he's sorry about. All he knows is that his head is filled with blue eyes and blond hair and the fact that he may have ruined one of the few and perfect memories that he has.

He can be an asshole like that sometimes. Apparently.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, as if the quantity of apologies would make up for the massive fuck-up that just happened. "I'm sorry. I just..." But he has to push through this, no matter how awful it makes his stomach twist. "I wasn't thinking."

Carly just shakes her head, running both of her hands through her hair. "That much was obvious, Freddie."

"It seemed appropriate at the time, though. Except while it was happening, I felt awful."

"Thanks a lot." There's a small smile playing on her lips and he hangs onto that.

He sighs. His whole body sighs, from the tip of his toes to ends of his short hair. "I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of insanity. I'm going crazy. I know that I'm lucky. MIT, man. It's incredible. But being here, having just graduated from high school... It's weird. Like something ending and beginning at the same time. Everything changing and I'm trying to cope. I'm not like you, Carly. You're a trooper. In fact, you do more than that. You _flourish_. The only reason why I made it through high school is because of you and Sam."

"That's not true."

Oh, but it is.

"It is."

"So why'd you kiss me?"

29. "It's gonna be weird not doing iCarly anymore."

Sam manages a grunt. Actually, that might have been her stomach. She can't tell the difference sometimes.

"I mean, I know I haven't been doing it anywhere near as long as the three of you have and all, but—"

"It was something?" Sam offers him a slight smile. Brad's always been a cool guy and rallied through the ups and downs of iCarly, sometimes even serving as a voice of reason and a comforting, though quite stoic, presence. Although the stoicism might actually be confusion. Yeah. That makes more sense.

He chuckles, eyes still trained outside. "Today, my grandma asked me, 'where do you see yourself in ten years?' and I didn't know what to tell her. It would be nice to say that I'll be somewhere in Europe working as a professional photographer. Or an astronaut out in space. Or a mattress-tester."

"Whoa. Mattress-tester! Why haven't I thought of that one?" Because being paid to sleep is almost as awesome as being paid to eat. Fo'chiz.

"I know! There's so much to do out there and it's like, holy cow—" Only Brad would say something like _holy cow_ "—what if I don't end up doing anything?"

Sam shakes her head. "You're getting it all wrong, ma brudder. Not doing anything is the awesom_est_."

28. "Needed to do something that was in control and out of control at the same time?" He shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, you're my best friend. Man... I really am an idiot, aren't I?"

She doesn't bother to disagree with him. "Sam is gonna kill me," she says instead.

"Hey, I'm the one who kissed you. I should be the one to die."

She punches him lightly on the shoulder and Freddie instantly knows that everything is okay between the two of them. "I wasn't talking about that. I was talking about the fact that I've left her to fend for herself against a surge of uninhibited soon-to-be college guys."

"Uninhibited?"

"Well..." Inasmuch as Carly is usually quite good in feigning innocent, her fidgeting tells Freddie that something is up. "Okay, so maybe someone's been lacing the Peppy Cola with whiskey."

27. "Did you know that Gibby's not just losing his shirt? Before I came up, he was down to his boxers and socks." Brad noticeably shudders at the memory. "That's why I came up here. Didn't really want to wait around and see if any other clothing would disappear."

"What a nub. I specifically told him not to drink any drinks he didn't pour himself!"

But Brad seems to know Sam more than she thought he did and she's a little surprised when he raises an eyebrow at her. "And when did you tell him that?" he asks, each word laced with justified skepticism.

"Right before I handed him a drink!"

26. Samantha Puckett.

Freddie knows that eventually he'll have to start thinking about Sam. Well, saying goodbye to Sam... No. He can't. Right now, sitting with Carly and talking about the future, it already feels like they're saying goodbye to each other. A shared acknowledgement that this? This is it. From here are on out, things are going to be different. They won't be living across the hall from each other anymore. And he's a little more confident now that he'll survive.

But with Sam... He's not quite sure.

Carly must sense that he's turned pensive and bends down to kiss his cheek before standing up to leave. "Well, I have a party to host. You gonna be okay out here?" she inquires, pulling her hair away from her shoulders only to have the dark strands fall back again. "You're not going to jump off the building or anything equally stupid?"

He shakes his head, a small gracing his lips before waving her off. The second she's out of view, his thoughts return to Sam. The one and only, confusing, belligerent, antagonistic Sammy. He remembers how it began. A kiss. Just one kiss. It's how it ended that's a blur to him. All he can recall are how the words somehow became more painful and how she refused to talk to him for days at a time.

"Let's just be friends, Fredward," she told him one day, "better that way."

He didn't believe her then. But the one thing Freddie Benson will always do is let Sam Puckett have her way.

Even if it hurts.

25. Sam can't say she's not relieved when she spots Carly talking to some guy wearing douchey suspenders the second she decides to make a reappearance. In fact, she has to bite down on her lower lip to keep from letting out a sigh of relief. Behind her, Brad mutters something about unopened soda cans.

"Tough luck, Brad," she says in parting before making a beeline for her best friend, pushing people who get in her way. "Hey, Carls. Where've you been?" She swears she doesn't mean to sound so suspicious but Carly doesn't seem to notice, though.

"With Freddie."

And with those two words, Sam tries to force her heart down from her heart and back into its cage.

24. He knows she's near even before she attacks his arm with her fist, to which he releases an obligatory groan. It's this faint smell of berries with the tiniest hint of pork fat (it's inexplicable, really).

"Mama heard someone's getting their knickers in a twist over college." She hitches one leg onto the ledge and then the other. It's second nature how she leans against him and his arm wraps almost idly around her waist. It's what they do. What they've done for a while now. They've always been drawn to each other whether they were shoves, noogies, shy touches or passionate kisses.

"It's been a weird day," he admits slowly, "graduation and stuff."

Sam scoffs at him. "And stuff?" she mimics and not all that kindly. "Yeah, because you've been cutting a rug all night, haven't you?"

"I just have a lot on my mind, you know?"

He feels her head tilt up and then her eyes on him. She's curiously silent, though, as if in understanding but unwilling to admit it. And he's sick and tired of it. Of the things that they say and the things that they don't. But he's still a coward.

So they sit in silence.

23. Sam is thinking. Something she avoids, as much as possible, because thoughts cause ideas and ideas are never a good thing. Well, for her at least and the last thing she needs being going to college is another arrest.

But the breeze is warm on her skin and it makes the hem of her blue dress flutter a little against her thighs. Yeah, she's wearing a dress. One that Carly had forced on her at the threat of bodily harm. Sure, she could have taken Carly if she wanted to but she figures part of being a woman or whatever is having to wear stupid clothes.

(And maybe the dress makes her feel pretty.)

Toeing off her flats, she slips her feet onto his lap and presses her face against his side. She breathes him in, taking in that slight peppermint smell combined with the scent of fabric softener. Unconsciously, her fingers grip his shirt and it makes Freddie turn to her with questioning eyes.

"You'll survive," she whispers softly. "You've never given yourself a chance to really fail, you know? I don't think you'd know how to."

22. That's exactly, without any doubt in the world, the last thing Freddie Benson would have guessed Sam would say.

And now that she's gone and said the unexpected, he's not quite sure what to say himself.

21. This is exactly what Sam wanted to avoid. Honestly, she doesn't even know why she said it, but he looked at her and she knew that he needed for her to say something. To comfort him. Which is weird because Sam Puckett and comfort are rarely synonymous but she needs for Freddie to not psych himself over this. Because if he finds reason to freak out then she's most likely to follow.

"I'm scared, too," she says and it feels good to admit that out loud. "I hate that I don't know what's gonna happen next. And it doesn't help that I'm getting all this crazy pressure from the family because Mel and I are the first Pucketts to go to college and I don't know how to deal with pressure because I've never really had to before. I'm scared that—"

She stops herself before she says too much. Although, it's pretty late for that.

20. He knows Sam too well that she's not gonna let go completely but he's quite surprised that she's confided as much. But she's had these moments before. Vulnerable moments that began and ended the same time as their relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend. He loved those nights when they'd lay in bed together, a tangle a sheets, and limbs and love, she'd whisper in his ear all her fears and dreams and he would hold her close and pretend that he could something (_anything_) about it.

He also knows that she hates feeling vulnerable.

"I'm scared that when I leave, everything I know about home will change." He absentmindedly threads his fingers through her soft curls an action so poignant for both of them that it earns him a sigh from Sam. "I know it's selfish. You know. To expect things to always be the same even while I'm not there. But for as long as I can remember, my life has been about routine. It wasn't ideal. But it was..."

"But it was something," she murmurs.

19. There has to be something more intelligent to say rather Brad's stupid 'It's something' phrase but it's almost automatic how it enters her head and slips down her tongue. Nevertheless, she went and opened her mouth. What's horrific is the knowledge that maybe she needs this. She needs to talk to Freddie about this because she needs for him to understand. Understand what, has yet to be determined, though.

So she takes a deep breath.

"I'm scared of changing. I'm scared that college will change me, that one day I'll look in the mirror and I'll be one of those shallow sorority girls or those poser artsy-fartsy types who wear those black berets. I don't look good in a beret, Freddie! It makes my head look fat!" She's clutching the front of his shirt with two hands now. "Oh god! What if I become..."

"Become what?"

Sam blanches a little before she reveals the awful thought. "A vegetarian?"

18. He's laughing hard as he tries to pry her fingers from his shirt. She lets go of the hostaged garment and leans into the circle of his arms. Then she joins him until they're just holding on to each other (for dear life), gasping for breath between each peal of laughter.

"I kissed Carly tonight," and he doesn't even know why he says it, what possessed him to think that she would be okay with it because Lord help him if Sam ever tells him that she kissed someone. He would die.

The laughter has stopped.

17. Sam knows she's fast but it feels like a literal split second has passed from when she was out on the fire escape to now, pressing hard on that elevator button. But fate is cruel and all the elevators don't seem to be anywhere near the eighth floor.

"Stupid elevators!" she shouts, banging her first on the wall and chiz if that didn't hurt like a mother. She can hear hurried footsteps coming toward her and she knows that it's Freddie.

"Sam?" he says before rounding the corner and coming to a stop behind her. "Sam?" he repeats, as if just the mention of her name would make her look at him. Because she can't look at him right now. Not right now.

Maybe later. But _not _now. Not while she's crying.

She pushes away from the wall and starts walking back to the Shays apartment, making sure to keep her gaze on the floor. Except his hand is on her arm and he's tugging and tugging and _tugging_ and she doesn't have it in her to fight him.

(Because all she does is fight him and look where that got her.)

"I could say it didn't mean anything, but I'd be lying—"

Instinct tells her to get away from him as fast as she can, but she's standing in the middle of an empty corridor the walls of which vibrate with the heavy beat of the music coming from apartment 8C barefoot. And she's tired. And resigned.

"—because it did mean something."

16. He takes it as a good sign that she's still there, even though she refuses to look up at him. He backs her up against the wall. Still nothing. Taking a chance, he places a finger underneath her chin, willing her to look at him. She won't.

But he won't be deterred.

Leaning down, he brings his lips close to her ear, his cheek against her soft one. "You were wrong," he whispers. Years of dealing with Sam has made his reflexes extra sharp and he anticipates her hand coming down on his face and quickly grasps her wrist in his hand. His hold is firm and he pushes her hand against the wall behind her. She tries with her other hand and it to suffers a similar fate.

She's glaring up at him with blue eyes so cold and hot at the same time. And wet. And god, he feels like an asshole but he can't give up now.

"You were wrong," he tells her again, "this isn't better."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Benson?" she spats out his name, but he takes no offense.

"You said being friends would be better. It's not."

15. She hates crying, she really does. She also hates feeling conflicted. But most of all, she hates feeling vulnerable. And here comes Fredward Benson with his stupid name and his stupid hair and his stupid polo shirts and his stupid eyes looking at her like that. And that stupid mouth, saying things like...

"I love you, Samantha Puckett," he whispers in her ear. "You know what scares me the most? I'm scared that one day when you're in New York and I'm in Cambridge, you're going to call me up and say that you've met someone and I won't be able to do anything about it. I'm scared of not being a part of your life anymore. That I won't get to see you every day, touch you, or hear you laugh and call me those stupid nicknames.

I'm scared because when I think about how scared I am, I start to think that maybe I don't want MIT. Maybe I just want you."

"You're an idiot," she announces. Because he is. Man, he's such an impossibly huge idiot.

Sometimes, she doesn't even know why she loves him so much. She just does.

14. Who knows who initiated it really, but when their lips touch, such relief spreads throughout his body that his knees almost go weak. His hands abruptly release her wrists, one landing on her hip and the other on her neck, a thumb tracing the graceful curve of her jawline.

"I love you," he murmurs as he trails his lips down her neck and to her delicate collar bone. "I love you." The hand on her hip drops further down, flirting with the hem of her short dress. "I love you." Because he can't believe that he went so long without being able to tell her those words.

He finally feels her hands on his body..

"I love you," she whispers. Finally.

13. Somehow they make it to his room without waking up his mother. But they do and it's all limbs on limbs and mouth on mouth and pulling and suddenly she's being pushed onto her back on his bed. They don't bother switching on the lights, but the moon shines through his open window illuminating the bed with its soft light.

"God, you're beautiful," he tells her with a reverence in his voice that she's never heard of before.

Tears prick her eyes and she lifts a hand, placing it on his cheek. He smiles at her softly and turns to kiss the palm of her hand.

12. He takes his time with her. Because that's how they've always been with each other. She's unrestrained and demanding (_and arching against his hand_) where he is calculating and patient (_and begging for her touch_).

He holds her close to him each time she falls apart. Each time is absolutely breath-taking.

11. "I don't want you to be scared anymore," she whispers in his ear as they lay in a tangle of sheets, limbs and love. They're facing each other, so close together that their noses bump when one of them moves. "Can you do that for me?"

He grins. One of those lazy post-love making grins that she missed so much. "I'm not sure I can get rid of the fear completely. But you've been quite... _persuasive_. We'll see."

"How about you stop being such a big idiot?"

"That I can do."

10. The party is winding down by the time they make an appearance. But he has his arm around Sam's waist and she's whispering silly things about having spitting contests from the top of the Empire State Building and he's thinking that tonight was a pretty awesome night.

He spots Carly from across the room and sees her gaze flicker to Sam before grinning at him and giving him a wink. It seems the hostess herself doesn't mind that he's late.

"Heeeeey... Fweddieee..."

"Damn, Gibby!" Sam exclaims, quickly covering her eyes. "I'm scarred for life now. Go find your clothes, man, and put that—that _thing_—away!"

"Heeeey, Saaaam!"

9. Sam goes to stand beside Carly as they watch the boys try to get Gibby into his clothes without actually touching him. She would have recorded it on her pear phone but Carly said something about it not being nice. It's at the tip of her tongue to tell her best friend that mama's not concerned with being nice, but she figures that they're growing up. Maybe she can stand to be a little bit nicer. A little bit. Tiny little bit.

So she turns to Carly and says, "Only if you stop kissing boyfriend."

"Hey! He kissed me! But okay deal." She links her arm with Sam's and they try not to laugh at Gibby trying to do the worm and Brad and Freddie trying to coax him off the floor. "So you and Freddie..."

"Freddie and I..."

They look at each other then and share a smile.

"Oh yeah," Carly says, looking quite smug. "Totally knew it was gonna happen. You can have that dress, by the way. I don't think I can ever wear it again."

8. It takes them forever but they finally have Gibby dressed and seated in the middle of the couch with a cup of coffee in his hands. All of the guests have gone, leaving their group of five behind to deal with the aftermath. Freddie sits down beside his friend, giving him a pat on the back—a task easier to do now that he's clothed.

"Where were you all night, Freddie?" Brad asks as he sits on the opposite end of the couch. "You missed quite the party."

"Out on the fire escape," he replies with a shrug.

"The whole night?"

He's saved from answering his friend's question when the smell of bacon invades the air and he makes a mental note to thank Sam for her awesome timing. It's not that he doesn't want to talk about it. He just doesn't want to talk about it _yet._

"Isn't it a little early for bacon?"

Sam scoffs at his question. "It's never too early for bacon!"

7. They agree to go up to the roof and spend the rest of the evening there. It's a last hurrah before Brad leaves for a last summer vacation with his family and Freddie's early orientation. They share their favorite stories about high school, about iCarly, and about each other.

Sam reluctantly shares her bacon with the others and is pleased when Freddie gives her his share then proceeds to pull her onto his lap. She decides that maybe being generous isn't so bad either.

"I have an idea!" she tells the others and she hears Freddie groan in her ear.

"Not an idea that gets us arrested, I hope."

She rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs. "I think, we should do this every year. Just the five of us, hanging out on the roof, eating bacon and telling stories."

It's a great idea, everyone agrees. It's something. Something for them to look forward to. Something to keep them together.

6. Brad munches thoughtfully on his piece of bacon. If it's not to late for Sam and Freddie to work things out...

He casts a sidelong glance at Carly before quickly turning his eyes back to the horizon.

5. Gibby's lost in his own drunken thoughts. Surely, college will be a lot better than high school.

Do colleges have dress codes? He definitely has to join a frat. Why do his manly bits hurt?

4. Carly's probably the most scared of them all. She's just the best at hiding it. But she's always been adventurous so college won't be so bad. Especially with Sam in the same city.

Besides, college guys? She's _so_ there.

3. Sam's already trying to calculate how much it'll cost her to get on a bus and visit Freddie at least twice a week. She'll have a get a job. The things she does for the nub.

"I love you," she hears him whisper.

_Her _nub.

2. He's come a long way from standing in the middle of that field.

1. They watch the sunrise together, each one thinking that tomorrows can be beautiful after all.

(But it's gonna be one hell of a post-party cleanup.)

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I honestly didn't know where this fic was going while I was writing it. I figured I'd start with the random sentence 'Freddie's standing in the middle of the field.' and just went from there. It could have been a quarterback!Freddie and cheerleader!Sam fic but rotten tomatoes don't go with my outfit.

Also, it was kinda touch-and-go there with what pairing I'd end up with. Yeah, it's done in Freddie and Sam's POV but it could have still gone either way.

Lastly, I'm quite sure that someone will say that switching between scenes (the Carly and Freddie one and the one with Sam and Brad) is annoying. I have nothing to say in my defense.

And a request: Given the length and how I'm incredibly lazy, this has gone unedited. If you spot any typos or corrections or whatnot, please do point them out so I might edit them! Thanks!


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